Linguini with Clams
by rsb57
Summary: Episode Related: Shootout. Some memories associated with food shouldn't be revisited-- unless you've got a friend who understands.


**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY PART OF THE STARSKY AND HUTCH FRANCHISE. THE FOLLOWING IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT ONLY.**

**Author's note:** I had lunch the other day in an Italian restaurant and saw on the menu: Linguini with Clams! Of course I thought about another Italian restaurant and was transported back to Bay City. It made me think about memories, good and bad, associated with certain food experiences. I wondered how Starsky would deal with those memories from that encounter.

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**LINGUINI WITH CLAMS**

After his ordeal in the Italian restaurant, Starsky had a headache for weeks from the hit that ricochet off his temple. According to Hutch, it was his hard head that had saved him there. Then the other wound, the one that really scared him, was the one in his back. Starsky knew at the time, even though he was nauseous and confused, he knew that it was serious. Hutch tried to reassure him that it wasn't anything to worry about, but Starsky heard it in the clipped, stern tone that Hutch had used to explain the situation to Joey and Tom. Even through his own waves of pain which ripped through his back, Starsky knew they were in deep trouble. He could feel it in his friends' careful hand. He felt the tremor as it ran through those long fingers and connected with his own sweaty, searching hands.

But once it was all over and he'd finally gotten out of the hospital, Starsky reminded himself how lucky he was to have a partner and friend like Hutch. The blond had risked his life once again, not only to keep Starsky alive, but he'd done his best to assure the other patrons' safety as well.

Starsky knew that Hutch's over protective spirit had run its course the night he and their friends had walked out on Starsky's Vaudeville routine and left him standing alone in the living room. At first he was really shocked and hurt that his best friend could be so thoughtless. He wanted to lock the door so the jokers would know how it felt to be alone and left out. That would teach them to walk out on an invalid. But that's just it. That was Hutch's way of telling Starsky that everything was okay. That once again, one of them had cheated death and the bad guys didn't win.

So he decided to ignore the bad behavior and the wise crack remarks that everyone made as they filed back into the house. There was a look that passed between the partners that no words could ever communicate fully.

"_See, I told you everything would be okay. You did it buddy, you're strong and alive. I'm so glad you're still in my life". _Hutch's clear blue eyes were crystal with the emotion he wanted to share but the time and opportunity to form the words out loud would have to wait. But the reassurance was there. He needed Starsky to understand why he left him. He wasn't alone. Never would be alone. He would always stand beside Starsky and support him but he also knew when it was time to back off and let life return to its balanced plane. As Hutch absorbed the message in those sapphire eyes turned toward him, he squeezed Starsky's neck, acknowledging the need he saw there.

'_Damn Hutch. You gave me my confidence back by treating me normally. For the first time in weeks, you left me without hesitation, without a last minute warning not to over do it. I know I'll be okay because even though it was a dirty trick, you let me know that life goes on and that everything is in balance again.'_

Starsky offered a crooked smile as he winked at his friend. The moment passed quietly between them, but the meaning was a loud foghorn in the mists of the unknown, guiding them both back to wellness and trust.

A few days later, Starsky's progress in physical therapy had included a first time effort to reach his left arm over and behind his head and touch the opposite shoulder. Of course, the action was accompanied by a few choice swear words and bullets of sweat popping out on his forehead and upper lip. Nonetheless, it was an accomplishment that deserved a celebration.

Starsky left the rehab center extremely pleased with himself. He saw improvement daily and was now able to sleep flat in bed, not hunched up in a recliner. He'd found that sleeping in the recliner didn't put any pressure on his sensitive neck and shoulder muscles. At first, laying flat on his back made it impossible to get out of bed on his own. Much like a turtle on its back, he'd have to call out to Hutch for help because he didn't have the muscle strength to push himself upright. So after a few nights of that, he gave up and slept fitfully in a recliner.

But today, not even Hutch's quirky car could spoil his mood.

"Guess what Hutch? Should only be another week and I'll be driving myself to rehab!" Starsky chirped with excitement as he struggled with the passenger door on the LTD. He grimaced as the door shuddered and rebelled and finally with a loud jarring, creaky noise, it slammed shut. For once, the dark haired man let an opportunity pass to complain about Hutch's dented up choice of a car.

"Now that's good news Starsk! You wanna celebrate? Dinner's all planned for tonight and it'll be a great end to your fantastic day!" Hutch pulled the old car onto the highway and glanced sideways at his friend in the passenger seat. He smiled to himself as he thought of the dinner he'd been planning for weeks but tonight, it would mean so much more.

Talk was easy as they drove back to Hutch's. No mention was made of anything serious just their normal, everyday kind of exchange. They didn't talk much about the shooting, opting to just put it all behind them as another chapter in their lives. They knew how the situation could have turned out and were just grateful that everyone had gotten out alive. They both credited the other for being strong and resourceful and that the ending was another in their effort to do everything as partners. If one succeeded, it was for the greater good of a situation. The conversation died away as Hutch realized that Starsky had fallen silent. He knew the man wasn't asleep, just giving in to the aftershocks of pain that always left him tired and weak after a physical therapy appointment.

"Why don't you lie down before dinner buddy? You look worn out after that session." Starsky's eyes snapped open as Hutch's words reached him. Not really asleep, just exhaustion seeping into his bones as he sat still during the drive. Now the suggestion of a nap sounded like a good idea.

"Who would have thought that a physical therapist who's only about 5'4" and might way 100 lbs, could inflict such pain? But man that felt so good to see more mobility today." Starsky didn't try to suppress the yawn as he got out of the car. He pushed himself into the house and headed straight for the bed. Even though not his own, the house was familiar and comfortable, just like their friendship.

Two hours later Hutch finished cleaning up the pots and pans and was just thinking he'd have to wake Starsky, when the man in question appeared. Rumpled and still groggy from sleep, he made his way to the kitchen and sat heavily at the table.

He looked around him and sniffed at the aroma, suddenly awake and very hungry. He'd had a weird dream about the restaurant shooting. He knew it was just a dream but it left him feeling disconnected and jumpy. The dream had lost its sharpness and was fast fading from memory but he did remember seeing a mass of linguini slithering across the floor along with a dozen snapping clams.

Now his nose twitched with the unfamiliar scent. A large pot boiled on the stove, the lid tight. But he could hear the roiling water as it bubbled and forced the unknown contents to click at the sides of the metal pot. He couldn't help thinking of his dream and the snapping clams.

"You're gonna love this dinner Starsky! Remember complaining that you were hungry, after all the shooting was over? Well, buddy boy, you're in for a treat tonight!"

Hutch rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He let out a contented sigh as he finished setting the table. He checked another pot on the stove, stirring something. Starsky's stomach began to rumble with hunger but the clams in his dream came back to him. He rubbed at his stomach and smiled weakly at Hutch.

"Not sure I'm awake enough to eat yet Blondie. Give me a minute? I need to go to the can." Starsky stood up, rubbed at his face and made his way to the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and stripped off his tee shirt. He decided he needed a shave and felt that doing something with his hands would settle his nerves, probably from the pain pills he took before his nap, but more likely he was just hungry. He grabbed the razor he kept there and using Hutch's shave cream, he lathered his face. He screwed up his nose at the flowery scent of the lather. He looked at the can and readthe ingredients: **infused with aloe. **He scrunched up his eyes and let out a sigh. The hazards of borrowing from Hutch were that you never knew what kind of new product designed to improve your health you'd be subject to.

Finishing with that, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed a clean tee shirt out of the top drawer. Not sure if it was Hutch's or just one of his that he'd left there over the last weeks, he pulled it over his head. He actually felt better, refreshed. Maybe it had to do with that aloe stuff but for whatever reason, now he was really hungry. His stomach rumbled and grumbled as he made his way back to the kitchen.

"Sit down and get ready for a feast!" Hutch welcomed Starsky with a steaming plate of linguini with clams! The blond set it down with a flourish, obviously proud of the meal and waiting anxiously for his friends' approval.

Starsky froze. Not only was that the dinner he'd ordered but never got the chance to eat, but the dream suddenly came back to him. Instead of being shot at by Joey and Tom, the clams had invaded the restaurant, snapping at everyone's heels. They'd been forced into the basement of the restaurant. The cops showed up and just as they'd believed that it was safe, the clams started snapping again and the cops turned into linguini, tying everyone up so the clams could continue their search for tasty human parts to devour.

Pushing the silly dream out of his mind, he was determined to enjoy the wonderful meal that Hutch had gone to such trouble to prepare. He sat down slowly, peering at his plate.

"Aren't you hungry? Thought you'd love to finally have the meal that you'd looked forward to but didn't get to eat. This is the same recipe that the cook uses at Giovanni's. He was so grateful that he wanted to give me something. So last week, I called Teresa and she got the recipe from him!" Hutch stood with his arms across his chest, waiting for Starsky to taste.

Starsky just stared. He felt his stomach rumble again, this time making him nauseous. How could he tell Hutch he couldn't eat it?Still silent, Starsky looked directly at Hutch. How could he disappoint his friend? He'd obviously worked hard on the meal and had gone to a lot of trouble to get the exact recipe. The old man was so grateful that he had survived the ordeal that he'd given his own well kept secret for a signature dish to Hutch.

Starsky's face must have gotten very pale because Hutch suddenly moved toward his friend and knelt beside his chair.

"What's the matter? I know, you took those pain pills and never ate. Now you're queasy. You need food, so go ahead and eat!"

Starsky could feel beads of sweat form on his face. His heart pounded in his chest and the nausea grew more intense.

He decided he better be honest, sort of.

'Hutch, --ummm, sorry but, I don't think I can eat this. You went to an awful lot of trouble for me and I really appreciate it." Starsky stopped as queasiness invaded his stomach again. He put his hand over his mouth and pleaded his case silently.

Suddenly, Hutch understood. He took the plate away from Starsky. He hung his head as the guilt invaded his heart. He should have asked before fixing such a rich meal. Perhaps his stomach wasn't ready.

Starsky took a deep breath. He really didn't want to hurt the man's feelings. His partner had been so good to him after he was shot and Hutch had risked his life, not only for himself, but the restaurant full of people as well. Maybe it would be better to blame the unease on the dream rather than the truth. Once, when Starsky had been little, he'd eaten two hot dogs for dinner. The next morning he'd been really sick. His mother said he'd had the flu and in a few days he was fine again. But a week later, they had hot dogs for dinner again and he couldn't force himself to eat one of his favorite foods. Just the thought of the last meal before he'd gotten so violently sick and he'd been afraid of the same thing happening. It was a long time before the young boy could eat another hot dog.

Now as he sat there, feeling very foolish, he decided to blame his misery on the strange dream rather than admitting to a childish complaint. Surely, if he ate the linguini and clams, nothing would happen other than he'd enjoy a terrific meal with his best friend who only wanted to celebrate their friendship.

"I just can't right now, sorry. I had a really weird dream. We were back in the restaurant but instead of Joey and Tom holding us hostage, we were attacked by snapping clams and slithering linguini with the ability to tie us all up."

Starsky swallowed as the memories at the restaurant swam around in his brain. He remembered the fear in Hutch's eyes. He remembered feeling so helpless and useless, unable to do anything but throw a damn pitcher. Even managing to fall off the couch just added to Hutch's heartache. He'd been too weak to offer any support. Now his best friend only wanted to make him a decent meal, to celebrate life and friendship, and he had to screw it up by being afraid of pasta and shell fish.

Hutch saw the fear that shadowed Starsky's eyes. It suddenly all made sense: A meal which had led to a nightmare. The mind was an amazing place. It took you to places that didn't make sense and associated otherwise pleasant experiences with something unrelated. He realized what the problem was. Hutch didn't have the same problem. For him it was red and white checkered tablecloths! Seriously, the blond knew that for Starsky, it would be awhile before such a dish would be enjoyed without that painful, fearful association. But knowing his friend, Hutch realized that to confront him with that knowledge would be just as painful. Starsky didn't like to admit to any weaknesses in himself.

Hutch decided how best to help his friend. Watching the color come back to Starsky face, Hutch decided they both needed comfort food.

"Delinquent pasta, huh? Sounds serious. What do you think of a grilled cheese sandwich…"

"And tomato soup?", finished Starsky. Just the thought of the creamy, warm soup paired with the ultimate grilled cheese, settled his delicate stomach.

Hutch dumped the pasta water down the drain and without another word, began work on a masterpiece of comfort.

Starsky reached into the cupboard for the soda crackers. Nothing like crumpled up crackers in tomato soup to complete the meal. As he opened the can of soup and poured it into the pan, Starsky watched Hutch out of the corner of his eye.

He saw the truth in the offering but silently thanked the man beside him for his unconditional love and support.


End file.
